Zero-G (4 page)

“Negative, Flight. Whatever decision you make, you make in consultation with all of us. No one is going to leave you twisting in the wind.”

“I guess this is where I make the ‘failure is not an option' speech.”

Rick turned his chair and looked across the space that separated them. “You know Gene Krantz never said that.” They were words he should have offered with a smile, but he couldn't manage it. Krantz was a NASA icon, the mold from which every other flight director shaped himself. Krantz and his team were at the helm to bring the injured
Apollo 13
flight home.

“No, but he lived it.” Dieter pursed his lips.

A motion at the back of the room caught Rick's attention. Security escorted a woman and two children into the room. With them were a couple of suits Rick recognized as NASA execs.

His gut twisted. . . .

The pain in Tuck's head diminished to a mere crushing sensation. He had never experienced a migraine, but his wife had. Next time he would be more sympathetic.

If there is a next time.

“Atlantis,
Houston. Got time for a phone call,
buddy?”

A phone call?
“I'm not interested in buying any more magazines, Rick.”

“You want to take this, Tuck. And no worries. I'll pick up the long-distance charges.”

“You're a pal, pal.” The banter made Tuck feel better, if only for a moment. It meant that his mind was responding faster.

“Hey, baby.”
The voice oozed through the earpiece. Not even distance and the cold of space could change a voice he knew so well. Tears burned his eyes.

He cleared his throat. “Hey you.” He heard his voice break. “It's great to hear your voice.” The image of Myra flashed on his brain: dark brown hair, short on the sides, full on the top; eyes that were accustomed to expressing joy and not anger; a wit as sharp as he had ever encountered.

“They . . . um . . . they tell me that you're having a little
trouble up there.”

“I've had better trips.” He shuddered. “I miss you more than I can say.”

There was fear in her voice.
“I miss you too. I . . . I
want you to come home safe.”

Tuck started to speak but failed. It took several moments and every ounce of concentration he could muster to speak the words. “Do you still have those pork chops in the freezer?”

There was a pause before Myra responded.
“Yes.”

“I'm talking about the thick-cut ones.”

“Those are the ones.”

He heard her confusion. “Good. I'll be back soon and I'm thinking of having some friends over for a barbeque. Will you make potato salad?”

“Of course.”

“Good. On second thought, let's make it just a family affair. Do you understand what I'm saying, Myra?”

“Yes. I know you'll make it home.”

“That I will, kiddo. I've got the best team in the world on the job.”

“I know, baby. I know.”
The effort to put on a brave front collapsed like a wall and Tuck heard every brick land. His heart ached and he lowered his head into his hands. Even two hundred miles above the Earth, traveling faster than a bullet with half his crew dead, he had to be brave for his family.

“The kids are here, baby. They want to talk to you.”

What steel remained in Tuck's spine melted.

The next voice over the line was higher than Myra's.
“Daddy?”

“Hey, gorgeous. How's my pretty Penny? Did Mom take you shopping for school?”

She was crying.
“Yes. Daddy . . . Daddy . . .”

“I'm coming home, sweetheart. Got that? I'll be there to torment any boys you bring to the house.”

Penny's laugh came wrapped in a sob.
“In that case,
I'm going to the mall and round up some.”

“That's it. You're grounded for the next twenty-two years.”

“I . . . love you, Daddy.”

Tuck fought back the sobs. His daughter's voice, the tone, the timbre, brought more pain than the fear of death. “Remember all those stars we see at night? My love . . . is bigger.”

The connection fell silent for a moment, then Myra came across the link.
“Gary is having a little trouble right
now. He wants to talk but he doesn't think he can.”

“Tell him I understand; I'm having a little trouble myself.”

“This is kinda tough on the kids.”

“I know. I wish it weren't so.”

“Tuck, there's so much to say, I don't know where to
begin.”

“Just tell me you love me. That will say everything I need to hear.”

“I love you more than I can say.”

“And I love you with every breath. You take care of the kids. Make sure Gary keeps up his math and . . .” Tuck broke. Words were now useless, but the connection between them was greater than anything science and engineering could manufacture.

“We're praying, Tuck. We're praying every minute.”

“Me too, kid. Me too. Does Dad know?”

“I don't think so.”

“Good. Don't tell him yet. There's nothing he can do but worry and he doesn't need that.”

“I'll wait, but he'll be here soon. He'll find out.”

“I understand. Do what you think is right. I'm not at my best right now.”

“They said you're feeling and acting better.”

“My head's clearing. I'm not as foggy. Myra, listen, I'm assuming they've told you about Jodie and Jared and Vinny. They have family. You're good with people in tough situations. They're going to need some strength. Do you know what I mean? Someone with spiritual roots.”

“I know what you mean. I'll do what I can.”

A moment of relief ran through Tuck. Helping others would help her. “Okay, baby. Give yourself a hug for me. I've got to get back to work and see if I can't come home and annoy you some more.”

“You can annoy me anytime.”

“I'm coming home, Myra, but if this goes south any more . . . You're the best thing that ever happened to me.”

Sobs covered the first words but Tuck made out,
“. . . me too.”

Tuck straightened and filled his lungs. A moment later, he packed away his runaway emotions in the stowage of his mind. “Houston,
Atlantis
.”

“Go ahead,
Atlantis.” It was Rick.

“What's next, CAPCOM?”

THREE

T
uck pushed back from Russ and studied his work. Under Bob's direction, Tuck had moved to middeck and retrieved a medical kit. With
Atlantis
stabilized, the autopilot engaged, and the downlink antenna realigned, Bob could get better information, more than Tuck could tell him. First he'd examined Jess. Now it was Russ's turn.

Guided by the flight surgeon, Tuck took Russ's blood pressure and listened to his lungs. He could tell by the way Bob spoke that he and the others considered him “skill impaired.” They were probably right. It took him twice as long as necessary to do the simple task of exposing Russ's chest and attaching the leads. The onboard video cameras provided Mission Control with a real-time view of all that Tuck was doing. He felt less alone.

“Houston, ECG is in place. Ready to downlink.”

“It's coming through fine, Tuck.”

“Same as Jess, Houston?”

“Stand by one,
Atlantis
.”

A minute passed like an eon. He had placed the same kind of electrodes on Jess's chest. Any reluctance he felt exposing her skin evaporated in the earnest desire to see her live. While social courtesies existed on a space mission, one could not be an astronaut and be overly modest. During liftoff or EVAs, Tuck had to wear things in places he couldn't discuss in polite company.

“Atlantis
, Houston, this is Surgeon. I'm getting the
same readings. Heart rate high, and blood pressure dropping.
The heart is trying to keep up with the BP drop.”

“What causes that, Doc?”

“A whole fistful of things. Medications for heart disease,
antidepressants, narcotic analgesics, anti-anxiety
meds, dehydration, anaphylaxis.”

“None of those sound likely, Bob.”

“We're back to the patches again. I can't think of anything
else.”

“Someone is going to have to make a decision.” Tuck held none of his exasperation back.

“Tuck, Rick here. We are making decisions, scores of
them, including the big one. We're bringing you home. We
can't risk you trying to dock with ISS. I think you know
why.”

“You think I'll park this thing in their living room.”

“I wouldn't have been so graphic. We're going to go
with full autoland and need you to start preparing for
de-orbit.”

“What about Vinny?” Tuck gazed out the aft windows. Vinny remained like a white-cloaked statue on the end of the manipulator arm. Vinny deserved better.

“That's first on our list. We've been doing sims down
here and think we have an idea.”

“The simulators show I can get him back inside?”

“Negative, Commander.”

“I'm not cutting him adrift, Rick.”

“No one is asking you to, but . . . You're not going to
like this either.”

“You want me to retract and place the arm with Vinny still attached. My brain is fuzzy, Rick, but it isn't gone.”

“I'm afraid that's all we can do.”

“You're not being creative enough, Houston. Let me get close to the ISS and then a couple of the boys can EVA to Vinny, unhook him, and come through the air lock.”

“Great idea, Tuck, but we don't have time. Surgeon
thinks we may lose Jess and Russ if they don't get help
soon.”

“Vinny wouldn't do this to one of us.” Anger shoved sorrow aside.

“Yes, he would, Commander, and you know it. If he
were alive, then we'd move the Moon itself to get him
home. You know that. I know that. But that isn't the
situation.”

“Then what is the situation, Rick?”

“Don't make me say it.”

“Spell it out.”

The pause seemed interminable.
“We don't risk
the lives of the living for the dead. We're bringing Vinny
home, but we can't do anything for him now. The longer
we wait, the greater the risk that the rest of your crew
will die.”

Tuck rubbed his forehead, and for a moment he wished he could trade places with Vinny. He looked around the flight deck. Many had touted the
Atlantis
and her sister craft as the most complex machines ever constructed. Now it was the tomb for three dead, two dying, and one lone, afflicted man trying to make sense of it all.

“Understood, Houston. Talk me through it.”

“You worked the RMS on your first mission. We want
you to retract and park the manipulator arm in the payload
bay.”

“Then what?”

“Close the bay.”

“What about Vinny. I mean, what about his body?”

“We'll recover him once you're home.”

Tuck couldn't believe what he heard. “You want me to leave his body in the payload bay, still strapped to the manipulator arm?”

“There's no other way, Tuck. This is the absolute best
we can do. As soon as that's done, we want you to start
prep for de-orbit.”

No words came to Tuck. The image of Vinny in his space suit, feet still strapped to the end of the fifty-foot arm of the manipulator, threw him into an emotional vacuum. He started to protest but refrained. With no solution to offer, he would just be wasting time.

For a few moments, he toyed with the idea of using the RMS to bring Vinny close, then suiting up and going out to get him, but the idea, brave and noble as it was, melted under the heat of logic. He might be able to get into a space suit by himself, but he doubted it. Just trying would eat up time that Jess and Russ didn't have. In his last dress rehearsal with a space suit, it had taken close to two hours to don the three-hundred-pound suit, and that was with help. Slipping into the suit alone and muddle-headed could take twice that, assuming it was even possible.

The thought of reclaiming Vinny's body pulled at him, but the vision of dragging Vinny through the airlock, securing his body, then returning to the flight deck to find Russ and Jess dead quenched the desire.

Mission Control was right. He hated it, but they were right.

Tuck drew a deep breath, stepped to the aft flight deck control station, and took hold of the translation and rotational hand controller for the remote manipulator. This was a two-person job: one controller and one crewman to operate the video cameras in the bay and those on the nine-hundred-pound arm.